Phases of Learning
by Lythdan Megend
Summary: After Fred's death in the Battle of Hogwarts, George has to learn to laugh, live, and love again.


**AN: This chapter is the first chapter of a three chapter story that has been completely written. Therefore, you shouldn't have to wait long for updates. :) **

**Phases of Learning** _by Lythdan Megend_

**Chapter One: To Laugh**

The first day Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes was closed, the customers milled around the door in confusion. Even in the midst of wartime, the shop had never closed its doors. Now, You-Know-Who had been vanquished and people wanted jokes and laughs to help carry on their celebrations, but the doors of everyone's favourite prank store remained closed.

On the second day, people checked in the windows of the store, wondering what had happened to its owners, why they had simply up and vanished without leaving anyone to man the counter. Still, they weren't too worried. Maybe the friendly red-haired twins that ran the store were sick, or tied up in their own celebrations.

A month passed, and when people stopped hoping that the shop would ever open its doors again, they passed it in the morning and saw that there was a flurry of activity inside. Excited, they went into the shop, ready to buy all the goods they needed to fulfill their pranking needs. But the shelves had not been stocked with new items and some were nearly bare. The shop assistants running the store were asked many questions, namely where the owners of the store were, but whenever they were asked they would simply get a far away look in their eyes and say, "They're not available right now."

Another month passed and the shop's backroom was almost devoid of products and the shop itself was looking more and more empty, product-wise. But now, people had stopped asking what happened to the owners, as the Daily Prophet had started running again after a month long break, and one of them was an article about the list of casualties at the Battle of Hogwarts.

But the lack of items didn't stop the shop from being filled with eager school students a month later, ready to start the new school year at Hogwarts, eager to forget that the War against He Who Must Not Be Named had ever happened.

However, some people could never forget what happened at that battle, and George Weasley was one of them.

He had been staying at Grimmauld Place with Harry ever since the battle of Hogwarts five months ago, to his mother's great dissatisfaction. George knew that given the chance, his mother would hold onto him and never let him go, smother him with all the love that Fred…that Fred would never be able to receive anymore.

He knew that if he went home, no-one would ever leave him alone. He loved his family, but they would be around him at every hour of the day, asking him how he was feeling, if he was eating properly, to make sure he was having at least eight hours of sleep a night.

Harry, thankfully, didn't do this a lot. Harry was very busy with his new job, so all that George received was a comforting smile when Harry went out the door every morning. Harry had also been spending a lot of time at the Burrow lately, as George suspected that Harry's new job wasn't the only thing he was busy with. But Harry was able to reassure the Weasleys that George was doing well, that he was feeling as good as he could be at the moment, and that he was getting better.

Was he?

His family wasn't the only reason he could not return to the Burrow, and the fact that he couldn't entertain other people when he was unable to amuse himself wasn't why he couldn't face returning to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. The thing was that these places reminded him too much of Fred, reminded him so much that even thinking about these places were painful because all of the memories that assaulted his mind when he thought of them.

He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror, because the image staring back at him wasn't his own face, but Fred's. No matter what he thought, no matter where he looked, there were always traces of Fred and he could never hide from them.

A loud pecking noise coming from the window roused him from his thoughts. He looked over and saw a large barn owl with a letter tied around its leg. It was jabbing its beak against the window. Sighing, George stood up and walked over to it and let it into the house, where it let out a dignified hoot. George intercepted it in mid air and hastily untied the letter. The owl then landed on the table and started drinking George's coffee with enthusiasm.

He flipped the letter over and saw that it was from Verity and Lee. He had received a few similar letters over the last months, but he had thrown them in the corner and not given them a second thought. He didn't need to be told that he needed to get out more, or that he needed to be more optimistic or that everything would be better in time. But somehow, he felt his fingers opening the envelope and tugging out the parchment inside.

_We need your help, George! There are so many customers and so little items we have left to sell. We need more products. We're not asking you to come out here; we understand if you don't want to or if you just can't. But can you maybe hire some people to replenish the stock? Please?_

If you want to come, I'm having my birthday dinner tomorrow night at eight. It doesn't matter if you can't make it though.

The lack of stock, however, is URGENT. The store might go bust if we have to close again, because we don't have anything to sell.

Remember, if you ever want anyone to talk to, we're right here, George. Stay healthy, try and get lots of sleep: you deserve it.

Take care,

Verity.

George crumpled the letter in his hands. He was taking care of himself, wasn't he? Did people really trust him so little? He seethed in frustration, but somehow resisted the urge to throw the parchment into the bin. Instead, he unfolded it and smoothed it out, reading it again, and again. He wasn't angry with Verity and Lee for asking him to 'take care' or inviting him out to dinner tomorrow night.

He was angry at himself for not keeping the promise that he had made to Fred, and to himself. The promise that, no matter what, they would keep Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes up and running, because people needed a bit of laughter in their lives to brighten up their days.

Maybe that was what was wrong. He had forgotten how to laugh. He thoughtfully picked up a quill and dipped it into the ink to send his first reply. But then, he started laughing.

It felt forced at first, because he hadn't felt happy for a long time. Now he realised that he didn't have to be happy to laugh, and the laughter became more natural, more elated. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed, and for the first time in months he stopped dwelling on thoughts on what should've been and started thinking about the future.

He grabbed the quill again and scrawled a quick reply, saying he was going to come into the workshop and also attend Verity's birthday function tomorrow. As he wrote, he chuckled to himself as he sealed the envelope and gave it to the owl, which was now eating some sausages that had been left behind on the kitchen bench.

George threw his head back and walked out the front door. He was amazed at how light everything seemed to be, when just this morning he felt as thought he was drowning in the depths of despair. He could hear the sound of people talking, the gentle footsteps of people walking on the crisp autumn grass, and he could hear children's laughter: a magical tinkle, the most beautiful sound he had heard in a long time. His own laughter joined theirs, and now he knew that happiness was not a requirement to laugh, but that laughter contributed to happiness.

However, he couldn't dwell on the doorstep forever. Didn't he have something to do? Things to make, pranks to create so that wizarding children all over the United Kingdom would be able to laugh as well?

He had felt so lost and in his grieving, he had almost forgotten who he was without his twin standing right next to him. Fred wouldn't want him to be sad. He would want George to continue running the joke shop, continue contributing to that laughter. Just because George was the last one left did not mean that he was any less a Weasley or a prankster just because he was on his own.

His heart filling with the prospect of a better tomorrow, he twisted on the spot to Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, even though he was still unsure he would be able to face the prospect of entering the store when he saw all the remnants of Fred that were sure to be there.


End file.
